


the chrysanthemums underneath his boot

by loquaciousloser



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2p if you squint, Burning to death, But very slight - Freeform, Estranged Siblings, Familial Relationship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kiku kinda goes crazy, My friend gave me fifty dollars to rewrite a gore fic I wrote in eighth grade, NOT nichu, Siblings, Stabbing, They ARE brothers, Yao gets it, by it I mean the katana in his chest, historical setting, i edited out a lot of the gore, i shouldn’t be posting this but it took a LONG time, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 15:28:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciousloser/pseuds/loquaciousloser
Summary: The sea quakes. It rattles the earth, crashes into the trees, because it knows what is coming— and it is trying to warn him.Yao knows it won’t be long now—knows that he is not ready for the rain to hit—but he looks out to the sea anyway, waiting.The storm is only beginning.





	the chrysanthemums underneath his boot

The sea quakes. It rattles the earth, crashes into the trees, because it knows what is coming— and it is trying to warn him. 

Yao knows it won’t be long now—knows that he is not ready for the rain to hit—but he looks out to the sea anyway, waiting.

The storm is only beginning.

————-

The day started off like any other— with the birds chirping. He woke up its sound, as he always did, before rushing to the window to breathe. A faint smell of sulfur lingered in the morning air, but he didn’t pay it a second thought— the air was dirty, these days, with the stench of war. It lurked in the passing winds around him, creeped up when he was distracted, and took him from behind. There was nothing clean about it. Not clean like the chirping birds, or the cloudless days, or the farmers rolling their wagons past him, waving as they went on with their daily lives. He could not bring himself to wave back now, not when he knew what was coming.

This might be the last cloudless day, he realized, the storm clouds might move in tomorrow— they could even move in today, if they weren’t stopped. He looked out his window at the passerby’s carrying their produce on the village’s dirt roads, buying goods in the market. He noticed the chrysanthemums competing for space on the edges of their tiny buildings— how the tranquility surrounded them. Spotting them, something broke inside of him—they brought up too many bad memories. He knew they would be burned soon, that the war would destroy their sanctuary away from it—destroy their, his hiding place. Soldiers would trample them, he knew, and deep in the back of his mind Yao prayed that it wouldn’t be under his foot— not the one he was running from. He quickly looked away from the flowers before he could think any longer.

His hand shook, closing the window. He would make some tea, if he could find any, just so he could breathe a little without his chest burning. Drawing one long breath, he leaned his head against the wall and tried to forget this war existed at all. 

And trying to imagine it was all just an illusion outside the borders of this village, he thought of the carnage and the destruction and the death toll. Trying to imagine what it would be like not seeing the bodies, the lifeless eyes staring up at him— clouded over like the storm overhead— he thought it could be him.

But nevertheless, he would survive. Like the jingwei trying to fill up the sea, he was determined.

————

He dreamt about the one he was running from most nights; it was what kept him awake during forgotten hours, not even daring to close his eyes.

Last night, as the moon was staring, his eyes started to shift— started to grow heavier and heavier and heavier until—

_The sky fills with smoke. It shifts into countless tragedies, fills his lungs and grows flowers inside of him, twisting along his bones, waiting to be cut out. His whole world is burning around him—the embers of his village flicker in his eyes, haunt him over the screams. He does not, cannot turn to face it._

_And as if the universe wants to torture him, a woman stumbles in his path, her hair billowing like the stacks of smoke surrounding her, eating away at her flesh. When he sees the fear clawing in her eyes, he recognizes it, identifies with it, tries to reach out to her when suddenly her hair morphs into the flames, burns his finger._

_He opens his mouth to scream, but the ash has built up inside of his throat, so instead silent desperation comes out. All he wants to scream is “why?” as he watches, beyond his hand, the fire licking at the woman. He thinks that she looks like him._

_He cannot scream, cannot turn away, cannot blink— so all he does as she shrieks with no relief— until something stabs her through the chest— a sharp metal pierces through her abdomen, almost red due to the heat. A sword, something tells him, and his hands shake._

_The sword pulls back, and Yao tries— tries so so hard to move his legs, to run away until he collapses. No no nonononononono words and pleas are rushing into his mind and into this hellscape as he stares at the owner of the sword, the katana, unable to think, unable to breath. His chest is burning, heaving up and down, as he shakes all over. He cannot run anymore._

_His face is the same as all those years ago— the same face of that child who used to smile inquisitively— but he stands with malice, his posture threatening. His hair is messier, Yao pales looking at what he thinks to be dried blood in it—-and the grip on his weapon is deliberate, unforgiving._

_He smiles (no no it’s not a smile…it’s a death wish…nonono it’s the Bringer of Death looking at Its next victim…it’s the predator looking at an unattended flock of sheep greedily, poised and ready to strike). Yao shakes as he walks closer and closer and closer until he stands hand-length away, staring. The flames dance in his eyes, gleaming red like the destruction he’s caused, and Yao stares into them, sees the woman burning. The katana gleams too brightly for his liking._

_“I’ve been waiting for this,” He hears, the voice like soot, “Sooner or later, I’ll always find my way to you, won’t I?”_

_The katana finds him. It plunges into his chest and the one who he has been running from, but found him twists it in, and he feels it. No— nononono blood from his mouth…. From his chest… from his eyes.. no no no no he HAD to survive— but it’s burning, burning worse than the village around him…. The other stares at him—purrs in his ear, “You can’t run forever,” twists it in more. Oh, it burns. He’s screaming, but no words are coming out———— - - - -don’t do this, please! Please! Don’t do this, no, no, you can’t! You can’t! We’re family!_

_You’re my—_

“Brother!”

In a haze, Yao reached above him, his breathing labored and his hand covered in sweat. He saw nothing, no one, and heard the same— nothing but the cricket outside chirping, playing its joyful tune, oblivious. His hand fell to his chest, shaking. It burned.

———————

He found solace by the water, alone and sitting on the shore, trying not to repeat his dream over and over in his mind. Around him, the waves crashed gently, the shoreline receded unusually far—and the breeze flowed through his hair. He supposed it felt gentle, but in his gut, he thought it could have the power to carry him away.

Across the horizon, where the sea ended, the sun had started to rise, cascading orange hues across the sky. The flames flickered in Yao’s mind, but he quickly turned them off. Instead of fears plaguing his mind, memories took their place— rising higher and higher to the surface, as the sun did.

—  
 _He jostled the baby in one hand and held a sickle in the other— but in his defense, he had never held a baby before. The baby’s cries echoed throughout the field and he forced all his willpower into not dropping it right then and there. It (He was only a teen, dammit, it was too much for him to accept that he had to raise his new brother all on his own—he had a hard time accepting that the thing in his hands was even alive) would not stop crying, its wails echoing across the grain-field._

_“Please,” Yao desperately rocked the baby in his arm, “Please just— be quiet.”_

_The crying stopped. Yao sighed and relaxed his shoulders, muttering thanks underneath his breath. He glanced at the baby, who stared intently at a bright orange flower a few feet away, Yao recognizing it as a chrysanthemum. The baby reached his stubby hands out to grab it, and Yao obliged his wishes, walking over to the plant._

_“You like that, don’t you?” The baby gurgled, sticking the flower into his mouth, and Yao found himself smiling involuntarily. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all._

_“Then… I think we’ll call you Kiku.”_

—

“ _Brother?”_

_Kiku tugged at the hem of Yao’s robe, an inquisitive smile on his face. Ever since he had learned to speak,he always had questions that needed to be answered, craving answers about everything, even things that he should not know._

_“Yes?” Yao started warily._

_“What happens after people die?”_

_Oh, Yao held his head and sighed, it was one of those questions— the ones he didn’t want to answer. Though he supposed this one wasn’t that bad, after yesterday’s “where babies come from” incident—but he didn’t know the answer to this one. He could only speculate like everybody else._

_“I suppose they go someplace else…depending on how they lived their life. The good-hearted go above…to a place that’s not quite unlike our earth, but better…and the bad-hearted people go to Diyu, where they’re punished for what they did in life.”_

_Kiku squeaked, staring up with fearful eyes, “…I won’t go to Diyu, will I?”_

_Pulling him into a soft embrace, wrapped in his arms, Yao smiled fondly, “Of course not. So long as you treat others kindly…and listen to me, little brother. I’ll keep you safe from all the bad people who want to hurt you. You promise me this?”_

_Kiku hugged his brother tighter, and as the warmth seeped off from them and into the atmosphere, everything seemed right, “Promise.”_

_——-_  
  
The rain poured. It fell from the clouds like a spray of bullets, but that didn’t stop the children— it never did. Outside, in the streets, children ran and danced and held sticks up to the sky like they were gods—but they were together in doing so, giggling like the rain was an inside joke. 

_Kiku ran to the door before Yao held out his hand and stopped him. With all the anger he could muster, he began to whine, “But I want to go play with the other kids!”_

_Yao shook his head, “You aren’t like them. They’ll grow old and die and you’ll still be a child.”_

_“I know! You always say that!” Kiku huffed, “I just want to go play with them…It’s not like I’ll be…friends…with them or anything.” His voice drifted off and ended in a sigh. Something in Yao broke when he heard it, but he stayed unwavering on his stance._

_“Kiku,” He started off firmly, but as Kiku flinched, he relaxed his tone— leaning down and placing his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “It’s not just the kids…if people find out about what you are, they’ll try and use you. They’ll take you away and maybe even hurt you, so they can control you—or try and use you to make the government pay big amounts of money to get you back. You understand me, little brother? That’s why I tell you ‘no’ on some things you want to do…in order to protect you…” He smiled, brushing his brother’s bangs off of his face, “I only want what’s best for you.”_

_The rain pattered on their roof, and children laughed from the outside. Kiku turned towards the noise, but then turned back, muttering quietly— “Ok…”_

_Yao nodded and turned back towards his work, but as he glanced back, he caught his brother staring out the window— a longing in his eyes. Yao just sighed. He hoped it was a phase.  
——_

_It was on a warm, summer evening when Yao found himself turning up furniture, raiding through the wildlife— looking everywhere he could possibly think of where his brother could run off to. His chest burned and his hand shook nonstop, until he finally found him sitting by the shoreline, watching the sun dip below the horizon._

_Yao’s tremors turned into twitches as he stormed in his teenage brother’s direction. He stood tall in front of him, blocking the view of the sun, “Where did you ever think you were going without telling me?”_

_Kiku crossed his arms, stepping backwards, “I am not a child anymore, brother. I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”_

_As it dipped behind him, the sun reflected off of Yao, the edges of his body glowing in the light. It lit up his face as it morphed from pained expressions to angry ones, and back again, “You are still a child to me! You haven’t even been to your own country yet!”_

_“And that’s because you won’t let me, yes?” For the first time since Yao had arrived, Kiku glanced up and met his brother’s eyes. Pent-up desperation rippled inside his soft, brown eyes and he turned away, mumbling— “…you never will, because I’ll always be a child to you. Your little brother that you need to shelter away, because ‘the world has so many bad people in it,’ and ‘they’ll hurt you!” He looked in his brother’s eyes again, gaze hard. “But what if I was one of those bad people, brother, what would you do then?”_

_Yao scoffed, “That’s ridiculous, you aren’t.”_

_“But what if I was?”_

_For a moment, everything remained silent. As Yao looked to the ground, no words came out of his mouth, until finally, almost silently, he mumbled—“Then I don’t know what I’d do.”_

_Silence came between them in a mutual understanding. The sun had already set below the shoreline, darkness now rippling over the horizon. And as it died for the day, the moon rose and took its place, prominent but not the same. Kiku looked as if the moon did— a shadow of what he could be, if there wasn’t something holding him back. In that moment, Yao realized what had to be done, and though it made his heart ache, he would learn to accept it eventually—this was the only option. He could not prevent the inevitable. He brought his arm around his brother and tried to keep his tears in._

_As he stared up to the starlit sky, Kiku barely managed to whisper, “You can’t stop me from leaving.”_

_“I know but I wanted more time.”_

_Yao teared up, brought his arm around his brother tighter. They stared up to the sky together— watching the million tiny lights dance like fireflies up in the galaxy. All were bigger than their countries, their planet, yet all found their way into the night sky. They looked at the moon, staring down at them, as Yao hugged his brother for the last time, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Kiku’s arms remained by his sides._

_“No matter where you are, who you become, I always want to gaze at the same moon as you.”_

_Kiku nodded, but there was something left unsaid._

_—-_  
(we won’t look at the same sun.)

—-  
  
_Years had passed since they had last seen each other, and Yao’s hands shook more each day, vibrating the teacup as he held it to his mouth. He had heard rumors that across the sea something was changing, something that did not spell out good news for his own country; and looking across the table, he feared they may be true._

_Kiku sat poised, back straight, his hand resting on his teacup with elegance. This was nothing new for him, though, he had always done this; it was one of the few consistencies Yao could pick out in a face otherwise unrecognizable. Underneath those stoic eyes, Yao saw a fire waiting to burn—ready to claw its way out. It almost scared him as much as the katana resting beside the doorpost— just a reach away from Kiku’s seat._

_Yao blew on his tea, trying to stop the shaking of his hands. In a last desperate attempt to reach his brother, he smiled weakly, “So…how have you been, these years?”_

_Kiku’s gaze remained fixed—unwavering and hard. “This is not a social call, Yao. We are here to negotiate your terms of surrender, nothing more.”_

_Yao stopped, stared, the tea in his hand feeling as if it had froze. His heart pounded, but he would not stop searching in his brother’s eyes—looking for any trace of the boy he had raised. But all he saw was the fire making its way to the surface, and he turned away, setting his teacup on the table, “I never said anything about surrender.”_

_“I know, but it would give you more time.”_

_As Yao’s head shot up, the room went as cold as the cup in his hands, now shaking in his grip. Kiku stared— unfeeling— and all Yao wanted was to turn away, to remember a time where his brother smiled at him, asking questions instead of giving orders. His mind told him to run away from whoever this was—the warning signals flaring in his mind—but his heart told him to reach out and bring his arm around his brother, just as he had done all those years ago. But all he could muster was a whisper, “This isn’t you, little brother.”_

_Kiku slammed his cup on the table, droplets of tea splashing over the rim. As he noticed the burning in his brother’s eyes, Yao flinched and folded his hands tightly; it seemed to help stop the shaking. He watched as his brother’s eye twitched, the words he had meant to say finally pouring out of his mouth,_

_“I am who I say I am. It’s just who you don’t want me to be,” Kiku ran a hand through his hair, pulling it slightly as he grit his teeth. For the first time, he stood up and turned away— unlike before, his voice quavering— uncontrolled. “Tell me, Yao, did you keep me confined all that time in order to protect me …or to control me?”_

_This time, Yao slammed his teacup down, disregarding any fear he had before. He was brave and a fool. But in the moment, nothing mattered, as he stood up, back straight, facing his brother, “I did it for your safety! Back then, did you know how many people would want to hurt you, try and destroy you for political gain?” He stood face to face with his brother now, but his shoulders relaxed, as if he were remembering— “I only wanted what was best for you,” He said softly, reaching out to brush his brother’s hair, place a hand on his shoulder— anything, so long as it was warm._

_But Kiku stepped away, and shook his head, “No…You’re wrong. You wanted what was best for yourself,” His tone was unforgiving—charring any hope Yao may have had, “You don’t like things you can’t control, and I understand—out of all the answers to the questions I asked, that was the most important thing you taught me. The value of control…So I understand, really, you just wanted what was best for me…so allow me to return the favor,” He grasped the katana and pointed it straight at Yao’s chest, “You surrender unconditionally. I assume control of your land. I keep you safe,” He chuckled, “Think of it as special treatment for keeping me safe all those years. Really, it’s only what is best for you in your current state.”_

_The tip of the katana moved closer, dug into the cloth of Yao’s robe, but he did not notice— only staring. He did not see Kiku before him. He did not see the baby who had stared at a chrysanthemum with wide, questioning eyes; he did not see the child who promised he would be good, or even the teenager who just wanted a little bit of control of himself. He saw a man who mistook ambition for conquest, mistook control over his own country to control over others; and he would not stop. The fire in his eyes demanded more and more to fuel its inferno, and Yao fell straight into it, head first. He looked at the man, saw those red, burning eyes, and only had one question: “Who are you?”_

_Kiku— no, whoever this was— just laughed, “I’m your little brother. I’ve always been. But now you just don’t like that I’m the one with power,” He lowered the katana, but still stared into his brother’s eyes— “Even if you don’t surrender now, your land will be mine eventually. Sooner or later, I’ll always find my way to you, won’t I? You can’t run forever.”_

_He reached out, clutched Yao’s shaking hand as the other yelped, staring at him. His eyes were that of a deer’s in the headlights, knowing that it’s about to be hit._

_Kiku only chuckled at him, “Oh and if you…say… go and warn anyone about this…” Raising the katana one last time, he brushed Yao’s shoulder, murmuring— “…don’t think I won’t enjoy every second of it.”_

_And as he left, Yao could only stand there, his breathing labored and his hand covered in sweat. Through the windows, the sun was setting, and then, like that, it was gone. His hand fell to his chest, shaking._

————-

It burned. By the time Yao shook out of his memories, his hand lay shaking on his chest, in the exact place which the katana had torn his clothes. He looked out to the shore, tears beginning to rain down his face, thinking of his brother. The one who he was running from. In the earlier times, Kiku had been so sweet, so innocent, that Yao wondered if this was all his fault.

The guilt ate away at him as he looked out to the sunrise, which grew higher and brighter in the sky. It was symbolic, and that was the cruelest part—— he thought, staring at it. Kiku thought he was the rising sun, and here he was, looking right at it with no intention of running. The storm clouds were rolling in and he knew they were not clean, the sea rumbling around him.

He sighed, about to turn away when he caught something—far away. A speck of black in the middle of the sunrise, perpetually getting larger and larger—until he realized. 

Gasping, he scrambled away, almost tripping on the sand as he hurried back up towards the village— running and sweating and his heart pounding in his chest. It was a war ship.

——

“Run! Run away!”  
“What? What is that man saying?”  
“Dear, just turn away. You aren’t supposed to look at those people.”  
“It’s a war ship! A war ship is coming!”  
“A war ship? But we’re not even a city!”  
“The Japanese? Here?”  
“How do we know he’s not just trying to steal our produce?”

Yao ran throughout the market, warning anyone who would listen. He had to get these people to safety, but only some believed him, packing up their things and heading inland; while others decided to test his claim, heading to the shoreline. He pleaded with them to leave, to buy them time— but they didn’t listen, and now he could hear their screams echoing towards the marketplace. 

His body remained stiff—already seeing the figures in black approach. He could run, or he could fight— or he could remain frozen as he was now. But he did not have time to think as something hit him from behind, knocking him down cold and on the ground.

The world— now off-kilter— is all shapes and colors in this blurry haze: but he could recognize that man anywhere, even in this state. He could not run now, could not say anything as he watched the man trample the chrysanthemums underneath his boot.

Even now, he stepped on them deliberately. 

“Well…look what the cat dragged in.” Kiku bent down and dragged Yao up by the fabric around his neck, almost choking him, “It seems there’s a lot of people missing from this place. Now, what did I say about warning anybody?” His grip on Yao’s clothing tightened, stopping the air from escaping him. He grinned, and now Yao knew it was not the Bringer of Death, but far, far worse. The fire in those red eyes wanted much more than just conquest; they wanted revenge.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” The voice comes out like soot, “Your running stops now, brother.”

And as the katana found his flesh, for the first time out of many, many more, Yao could not help but wonder what it was like to die.

  
—  
This is what it felt like:

The sky fills with smoke. It shifts into countless tragedies, fills his lungs and grows flowers inside of him, twisting along his bones, waiting to be cut out. His whole world as burnt around him—the ashes of his village flicker in his eyes, the soldiers have burnt it down, haunt him as he screams. He does not, cannot turn to face it. The monster is blocking the way, a mocking gesture.

The monster who has red eyes and the face of his brother—who is currently using that face to smile wildly as the flames reflect in his eyes. Yao wonders if this is his brother…but he cannot think over the pain of his bleeding chest, the sound of the crackling fire, the roar of the storm clouds moving in. 

Though his vision becomes blurry and he can’t see, he knows it is only beginning— this endless torture. Neither of them can die, he pains, it goes as long as the monster says it does— he controls this. 

“Now,” Kiku says something finally, his face far too ecstatic, covered in far too much blood, “I’ll give you a choice, now. I’m benevolent, like that. Would you like me to tie you up, give you no choice other than to stare at the sun forever?”

The desperation peaks in Yao’s eyes, desperately trying to speak yet throat too damaged. All he receives back is a crazed stare, “No answer? You know how much people hate being ignored, Yao. I’ll just assume you said yes then.”

And just like that, he is being carried off to the shoreline, to be tied up to a post and watch the sun rise and set forever—the same one as his brother. Watch the same moon be a shadow of what it could be, a monstrous shadow which he could have seen before, had he been more aware. As he is carried to the shore, he sees the chrysanthemums trampled, beaten on the ground. He knows what it is like to die now: it was the complete and utter desperation to prevent the inevitable. 

Around him, the clouds begin to remiss and the rain stops. But far away, he still hears the storm raging. It rattles the earth, crashes into the trees, because it knows what has happened— and it is trying to apologize. 

Yao knows it won’t be long now—knows that he is beaten, but not ready for the moon—but he looks out to the sea anyway, waiting. The sea quakes.

—


End file.
